


the sunshine always kept you warm

by eleven_twelve



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Eugenics, M/M, but not really gattaca you know, dancer ten, entertainer au, gattaca inspired, pianist johnny, yuta is a loser but whats new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleven_twelve/pseuds/eleven_twelve
Summary: Ten shuts the door with a soft click that echoes throughout the empty hallway. Johnny feels his heart thundering in his chest. He's afraid that if it doesn't calm down, it'll end up breaking all his ribs.(or: Johnny falls in love with Ten's dancing, and then all the rest of him)





	the sunshine always kept you warm

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by gattaca (but not as sad)

In the back of a dimly lit concert hall in a middle class neighbourhood, Johnny learns he exists out of love. His mother gently holds his small hand and places it onto the bump of her stomach. The baby that will be born in the beginning of summer does not exist out of love but out of efficiency. 

Unlike Johnny, he will be brought into this world with a one hundred percent chance of remaining here for at least eighty-five years. His hair will be black, and his eyes golden brown, and his voice will sound like the sun. Unlike Johnny, he will be worthy of his grandfather's name and his father's love, and if he wishes, he could sing himself into the Royal Musical Academy without a single missed breath.

Donghyuck is born on a day of sunshine and lazy heat. He barely cries when they analyse his blood and opens his golden eyes when the sun goes down. Johnny sits on the green plastic chairs in the hospital's hallway of broken white and waits for his father to come and show him his baby brother's perfect chart and tiny feet. When they go home, the song on the radio tells the story of a boy who realised his dreams. His father looks at him through the rear-view mirror with shining eyes and a proud smile. "That's going to be our Donghyuck, right Johnny?" Johnny looks at the moon and the hills and nods without thinking twice.

-

When Donghyuck turns five, on a sweltering summer day, their father comes home with a dark brown piano. Johnny feels his breathing quicken when his father pulls the white sheet from over the instrument and watches Donghyuck turn away with a disinterested look, quickly breaking into a smile when he spots the strawberry cake on the kitchen table. When everyone is occupied with wiping whipped cream from Donghyuck's chubby sun-kissed cheeks, Johnny lets his fingers glide over the black and white piano keys and revels in the rich tones that creep into the corners of the living room.

"John, be careful, that piano cost me a fortune!" His father raises his voice from the doorway, almost accusing, as if Johnny's imperfections would somehow taint the instrument. His mother comes up behind him and ruffles his hair with a gentle hand. "Hey, there's still some cake left that Hyuckie hasn't ruined," Johnny hears the smile in her voice, "Come have some." The knot in the back of her blue checkered apron comes undone. Johnny pulls on the loose strings, glancing back at the abandoned piano, and follows her into the kitchen.

When Donghyuck learns, Johnny learns. He sits silently on a kitchen chair by the piano and listens to the instructor as she places her hands on top of Donghyuck's to show him how to play. Johnny teaches himself the names of the notes and order of chords, and taps on his desk in the dead of night when Donghyuck gets up and comes to sit on his lap and asks why he doesn't play.

-

Donghyuck is the only person who knows he's going to leave. He walks in on Johnny carefully cutting his face out of all the family pictures one evening when all the emails he sent out to companies are left unanswered, and the one reply he does receive tells him in kind words that he isn't exactly what they are looking for. Johnny knows that his natural born blood is seen as worthless and invalid but he can't help but notice how deeply the disappointment cuts when he opens up his phone in the light blue mornings to zero new messages and another reminder to not give up. 

"What are you doing?" Donghyuck asks, and his voice breaks a bit under the pressure. He's leaning against the doorpost, long legs and tan skin. He's just fourteen, but already graceful and radiant. All Johnny sees are chubby cheeks and bruised knees from playing soccer on the beach. 

Johnny grabs his brother's narrow shoulders and hugs his head to his chest. The strands of black smell like the ocean. "I'm so sorry, Donghyuck, but I have to leave." Johnny doesn't miss the trembling of Donghyuck's lower lip, the way his eyes glint gold in the light filtering through the translucent curtains. He wishes he did. 

"How can you just leave me behind?" Donghyuck asks in disbelief as Johnny lets the guilt consume him whole. When there's nothing of him left, he looks up and follows the trails of tears back up to Donghyuck's eyes. "God, I'm sorry," he shushes the younger, raking his long fingers through his hair in a comforting manner. The world falls silent for a split second. "I'm coming back, just for you." He presses a kiss to the top of Donghyuck's head, "I promise."

-

He manages to land a job as a waiter in the Royal Ballet Academy and spends entire nights following the lucid melodies of the piano in his mind until he breaks two plates and nearly gets fired. "I have enough on my mind already," his boss yells, raising a hand. If he could get away with it, he would've hit Johnny a thousand times. "I don't need some invalid ruining our outstanding reputation." The commotion attracts the attention of the show-goers, who look over in curiosity but turn their heads as soon as the word invalid reaches their copiously decorated ears. 

"I'm sorry," Johnny stammers, taking a step back, "It'll never happen again." He flinches as the boss feigns a smile to appeal to his customers and slaps his shoulder too hard for it to be friendly. Johnny nods quickly and goes back to clearing tables, not letting the music distract him.

When the ballet is over, Johnny stays behind to make up for the ruined plates. He cleans the kitchen and vacuums the carpet in the auditorium. Between the seats of the second row he finds a security pass that allows all access without blood control. Instead of handing it over to the pink-haired woman behind the counter in the foyer, he pockets it and gives up on thinking about consequences.

Johnny doesn't go home when he's done. He rarely goes home these days, not now home is a one-bedroom apartment in the outskirts of the city, with a view over a dumping ground and sex-addicted upstairs neighbours. He usually roams the empty streets until the sun comes up over the ocean and spends the day behind the piano in the library. When that librarian Taeil with the caramel curls is working, Johnny gets free coffee and compliments on his playing. If Taeil isn't there, he takes the subway down to the waterfront and hopes for a miracle.

On the way out, however, he spots a chip reader by the backstage entrance. He holds the security pass up to the reader and heaves a sigh when the light turns green. He doesn't know what he'll find backstage, but at this point he doesn't think he's got anything left to lose. 

As far as he can tell, the area is vacant. The lights are off and the curtains drawn, music floats in from somewhere far down the corridor. Johnny ignores it and steps out onto the stage. Although the countless rows of red velvet covered seats are empty, Johnny feels like he's on top of the world. He imagines an infinity of people watching just him when he sits down at the grand piano and tightens his bowtie with trembling fingers. When he starts playing, it feels like he will never be able to stop again as he lets his fingers run wild and loses himself in the vast expanse of his imagination. 

He draws out the final notes until it's over, and doesn't open his eyes, tries to trick himself into believing that it's real, if only for a moment. That he is performing in front of hundreds of people and that the clapping he hears is directed at him. 

The moment the applause ends, Johnny looks up and sees a boy staring at him with wide eyes from the other side of the stage. He is wearing sweatpants and his black hair is dripping down the collar of his white t-shirt. Around his neck hang expensive looking white ballet shoes. Before Johnny cares about getting caught, he thinks about Donghyuck, and then he smiles back at the stranger and runs as fast as his endless legs will carry him.

-

Taeil tells him about the broker in the end of winter, when the patches of snow in the park next to the library melt away in the glittering rays of midday sun. Johnny spills his cup of cold coffee onto Taeil's blue jeans when the older comes up behind him, and tries to ignore the frantic beating of his heart in his throat. 

"How did you find him?" He asks incredulously. Taeil shakes his head and lets out a hiccuppy laugh, curls bouncing up and down as he wipes at his jeans in a futile attempt at minimising the stain. "I didn't find him, Lucas did," Taeil plops down onto the sofa by the window and stretches his legs, dust particles dancing in the light. "It's that one Japanese exchange student from my sociology class, Yuta."

Johnny swallows thickly as Taeil hands him a receipt with a foreign phone number scribbled on the back. "Are you sure you want to do this, though?" He asks, gentle voice dripping concern, "There's no way back after this." Johnny folds the note and puts it in the chest pocket of his white dress shirt. He's got work in forty minutes and he almost smiles at the thought of it maybe being the very last time cleaning up after filthy rich bourgeoisie. "I don't think I've ever been more sure of anything in my entire life, Taeil," he grabs his friend by the shoulders and slightly shakes him out of sheer excitement, "Thank you so much."

-

It's probably unfair, how easily he gets into the Academy, after just a bloodtest and a quick check of his long fingers. Johnny thinks of the countless rejections, all the opportunities taken away from him on the basis of nothing solid but the sequencing of his DNA. He's never been unaware of the discrimination people like him face, but finding out that all it takes is an elite genetic background and just a fraction of his determination to step lightyears closer to realizing his goal, makes his heart pound in anger against the with gold embroidered collar of his expensive dress shirt. 

When he stepped out of the house by the beach this morning, waves crashing against the cliff's edges until the tide retreated and spat out the sun, Johnny was no longer himself. All the excess skin and hair and anything that could be linked back to identifying him as John Seo, invalid, had been scraped off and burnt to dust, replaced by genetic material so valuable, Johnny could only ever dream of it. In the burning early summer sunlight, he is now Jung Jaehyun, an elite foreigner, with genes meticulously sequenced into mere perfection. John Seo might as well be dead.

-

Yuta Nakamoto, sociologist and illegal broker, leads him into the house in the millionairs quarter of the city, high ceilings and steel spiral stairs, white marble floors and the sound of the sea. In the garden grow cypresses and neatly cut rosebushes, white and red and pink. The sun seems to shine a radiant gold in all the richness, the outskirts get just pale yellow. At the end of the lawn stands a little pavilion, almost hidden behind the crown of an ancient beech. In it sits a young man Johnny has never seen.

"His genes are about as perfect as you can find them. He's athletic, handsome, tall, strong as an ox, I'll tell you that much," Yuta blabbers on as he ticks boxes on his checklist. "And his voice," Johnny looks up at Yuta as the latter closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of oranges and sea salt, "He could outsing an angel." He then looks over at the man in the pavilion and shakes his head in time with the tide, "You know, if he could still sing."

Johnny cautiously ascends the steps onto the pavilion. The young man looks up from his book and smiles politely, dimples digging craters into his rosy cheeks. "I'm Jung Jaehyun, nice to meet you." His voice sounds like a whisper more than a fairy tale, cracking around the edges like chipped paint. Yuta takes a seat next to Jaehyun, the wind playing with his hair like marram grass in the white dunes. He opens his notebook and hands Jaehyun a little piece of paper. 

"I take fifteen percent of your wage, Johnny, on top of that ten thousand dollar deposit," his voice gets carried away on the sea breeze. Johnny nods and looks over at Jaehyun, brown eyes wide and determined, soft smile gracing his handsome features. "Now are you guys completely sure of this?" Johnny playfully rolls his eyes and slaps Yuta's shoulder, "Yeah man, how many times do I have to tell you?" 

Jaehyun holds out a firm hand for Johnny to shake and looks him in the eyes. "If I can't become an artist," he coughs twice and lowers his raspy voice even more. Johnny leans into him to hear what he has to say. Jaehyun smells of expensive cologne and prosperity. "You have to become one for me, okay?"

-

Johnny quickly learns how to work his way around the ubiquitous surveillance and prying eyes of the entertainment industry, carefully bending the lines of order as far as he can manage, stretching them to a point that doesn't quite allow them to bounce back to how they used to be. 

He comes close to being found out, to having his and Jaehyun's endless hard work be shattered into pieces on the red velvet seats and mirror marble floors and Johnny's pricy leather dress shoes. He keeps all his workspace clean and erases his tracks wherever he goes. He might as well not exist. Yet, one morning, when the leaves bleed red, the lines snap anyway.

He comes into the dance room early, sitting down behind the white grand piano that seems to have become a home to Johnny's fingers and the way they imperfectly bend at the middle phalanx. A dancer is warming up on the other side of the spacious dance room, toes pointed into Johnny's direction on the barre as he reaches out his hands and folds his body at the middle like waves against a breakwater.

Johnny lets his gaze linger on the dancer as he follows his movements by playing scales, the swing of his arms, the bend of his legs and the graceful twirling of his body like the leaves falling from the sycamores in the garden that Jaehyun likes to climb in summer. He turns his head when Johnny stops playing and sits down onto the light wood of the dance floor to pull on his ballet shoes.

"You seem very familiar," he says and squints his eyes as if trying to distinguish Johnny from the masses of people working and attending The Academy. Johnny smiles and looks at the infinite amount of reflections of the dancer's pout in the wall mirrors covering the room. 

"I play the piano for your dance classes every day," Johnny supplies, "You must have seen me at one point or another." The cheerful voices coming from down the hall distract him from the other's intense gaze. "No," he says, in a voice that cuts through the silence like birdsong, sharp and soft at the same time, "No, you were playing the piano but it wasn't for our dance class." Johnny tries to remember where he has seen the boy's wide brown eyes before, the white silk ribbons he ties around his leotard clad legs with care. 

Other boys storm through the door, running up to the barre and the boy and ruffling his hair as he smiles up at them, broad and teethy and radiant. They start stretching, and Johnny almost forgets that he was expecting an answer, until the dancer comes up to him and rests a finger on a high F, filling up the mere centimetres between the boy's full lips and Johnny's burning ears. 

"I remember," he whispers, so none of the others can hear it, voice almost teasing as he puts a gentle hand onto Johnny's shoulder. "About a year ago in the great auditorium after the premiere of the Swan Lake," he says and Johnny wonders if the dancer hears his heartrate picking up from such a proximity. Then, as if Johnny doesn't already feel bile rising up into his throat he adds, "You were dressed as a waiter. I remember because you looked hot in that bowtie." 

He turns around and makes his way back to the group of boys waiting for their teacher to show up. Johnny watches him go, heart pounding so heavily he feels it in his fingertips when he presses them onto the minor keys. 

He goes home before practice ends and tells Jaehyun about the dancer, sprawled out over the grass in the warm afternoon light. Jaehyun looks up at the sky and closes his eyes without saying anything. His pale fingers tremble when he digs his fingernails into the damp dirt. The sun burns orange on his freckled cheeks when it dips behind the yellow sycamores. Johnny lets guilt flood him like tidal waves and prays to every god he can think of that this dancer won't run his mouth.

-

It's so cold that it's nothing else. The ripples of the ocean seem to be completely still where they should be climbing up the frozen sand. Off the cliffs edges hang icicles all the way down to where the salty water eats away at them like burning sunlight. The sky settles in a blue so pale its almost white. Johnny walks to work over the thin layer of ice covering the pavement and dreams of summer.

He finds the dancer in the dance room by himself again, tying white silk around his lithe legs like the rays of pale moonlight that stream through Johnny's curtains when he can't fall asleep at midnight. Surrounded by his ten thousand reflections he fills the air with a sense of grandeur, as if he alone has the power over everything the universe has to offer. When the dancer smiles up at him with his pearly white teeth, Johnny almost believes he does.

-

He learns the dancers name when the last leaves fall in the end of autumn, summer dead and gone in the blink of an eye, the sky an endless gaping hole above their heads in the early hours of the morning. Johnny runs into him outside the coffee shop Taeil now works at, head bright red from missing the bus. "Hey," he says, and smiles too bright for the time of day. Johnny almost doesn't recognize him with his nose nestled in a light blue woollen scarf, his voice muffled and hollow in the wisps of morning fog rising from the empty streets. 

"It's me, Ten, the dancer from the Academy," he answers Johnny's questioning gaze, laughing slightly as he wraps his fingers around a damping cup of black coffee. Johnny pulls his gaze away from the gentle slope of Ten's nose, the purple bruises under his eyes, and breathes out a cloud of white words as he introduces himself as Jung Jaehyun.

Johnny has gotten so used to the name that it feels real now, as if people look at him and see only Jung Jaehyun and his dimpled cheeks and his sunshine freckles. He finds the pain almost suffocating when he comes home to the real Jaehyun, who he calls Yoonoh now, longingly gazing out over the ocean through the leafless branches of the sycamores on afternoons he finishes work early. Yoonoh's threadbare voice tells him he's grateful, but the trembling of his hands tells Johnny all the rest.

-

Ten tells Johnny about himself in the empty mornings, in-between pirouettes and pliés and the breaks Johnny takes to rest his fingers. He practices before sunrise because he likes the sound of empty hallways, tiptoes subconsciously everywhere he goes, and likes summer because the sun reminds him of home. Johnny never asks, but Ten always answers, in his voice like red velvet and gold, bright and elegant and radiant.

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself, Jae," Ten asks, words pressed together in an exhausted exhale. Johnny shifts his attention from the sheet music to the dancer, spread out on the light wood of the dance room, chest rising and falling as he stares up at Johnny with raised eyebrows, and shrugs his shoulders lightly. "I don't know," he says, "I'm not a very interesting person."

Ten jumps up and wipes his sweaty hands on the bottom of his bright red t-shirt, pushes Johnny so far to the side that he almost falls off the piano stool and settles right next to him, arm slung around Johnny's neck in a way that must be incredibly uncomfortable, bare thigh pressing crinkles into Johnny's black slacks.

Johnny slouches to match Ten's height and almost allows his breath to hitch as the dancer leans into him and exhales warmly onto the side of his neck. "Do you like musicals?" He asks, bright fluorescent lamps reflecting stripes in his dark brown eyes, curious and expectant. Johnny smiles and nods, lets his fingers run again and watches Ten get up and twirl in exuberance until the hallways burst at the seams with their usual sunrise din.

-

Johnny breathes in the clean spring air as he waits in front of the main entrance to the Musical Hall. The streets are damp, reflecting orange and neon blue as people pass by with their heads ducked to try and avoid the drizzle. He holds back a smile as he spots Ten bowing to a taxi driver, and quickly makes his way over, holding out his umbrella.

"Such a gentleman," Ten jokes as he smoothens his white shirt, hooking his arm through Johnny's with a grateful smile and pink-tinged cheeks. He walks with a slight spring in his step when he's not dancing, jaunty and light, gentle waves rolling onto the beach when the wind lies down. 

Johnny holds his breath as he holds his index finger to the blood control device, out of habit more than fear. Ten looks up at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed, face almost falling when the screen lights up green and Yoonoh's face pops up. "Let's go in." Johnny urges him forward with a gentle hand on the small of his back. Ten opens his mouth as if to say something but gets distracted by his friend Taeyong's silver hair and lets Johnny exhale in relief.

They are seated on the balcony. Johnny thinks he might pass out when the actors appear on stage. "Who's that boy with the bright red hair?" He asks Ten, a silent whisper, inaudible over the blood rushing in his ears. Something tells him he already knows.

"Lee Donghyuck," the dancer confirms, teeth glinting in the lights as he smiles brightly, "He's good, isn't he?" Johnny nods frantically, tightening his fingers around the red velvet of the armrest as he tries to focus on the story, eyes wandering to Donghyuck every couple of seconds. His voice still sounds like sun, warm and bright, and his smile is wider than Johnny can remember. He must be seventeen now. Johnny misses him more than ever.

"Are you okay?" Ten asks him when the curtains draw and the lights come back on. The auditorium is still vibrating with remnants of applause, rapture and cheers crawling into the spaces underneath the seats and between the walls. Johnny nods, overwhelmed, and wipes at a stray tear rolling down his cheek. "Yeah, I'm great. It was great." 

Ten stands up from his seat and pulls Johnny up, not letting go of his hand as they leave the balcony, following the masses of people merrily reflecting on the musical. Johnny pulls on his coat and hands Ten his umbrella. The rain is coming down in buckets. Before Johnny realizes, Ten has pushed him into a taxi. "I have wine at home," he says, undoing the top button of his shirt, "Are you coming?" Johnny watches the buildings go by in a neon haze and lets his heart leap in his chest.

-

Johnny awakens to a light weight on his chest, a continuous press into the dips between his ribs. He finds a white cat curled up against his side and a ginger one kneading the skin below his neck, staring down at him with wide green eyes. He can feel the tug of a hangover in the tips of his fingers, slightly trembling when he rakes them through the long fur of the white cat, eliciting a soft purr that vibrates through the hollow of his chest.

The room is bright in a way Yoonoh's house isn't. A buzzing yellow shines through the open window, accompanied by the sweet smell of flowers. Johnny would try to guess which ones if he didn't feel like his head was going to burst at his temples. The ginger cat leaps from his ribs and slides through the door, slightly ajar. Johnny rolls onto his side and the white cat lifts its head. It meows as if to say good morning, or maybe it tells him he should've laid off the wine.

He gets up and follows the cat through the door into the hallway, rounds the corner to a living room that seems too familiar for him to have never been there. He sinks into the couch and turns to lean onto the windowsill, elbows placed carefully between pots of pink hyacinths. The window looks out over a courtyard filled with flowers. He recognizes honeysuckle and persian tobacco, the soft lilac of hydrangeas. 

"Oh, Jae, you're up," Ten startles Johnny from the doorway. A pink hyacinth falls onto the hardwood floor and breaks. Johnny turns to him with an apologetic smile and bends down to sweep the damp dirt into his hands. "It's fine, I'll clean it up later," Ten reassures him, droplets of water dripping from his hair into his neck, "Have breakfast first."

For all the times Ten lets him know how bad of a cook he is, he makes surprisingly good pancakes. "It's all in the heat of the pan," he says, laughing when Johnny fills his mouth with a stack of maple syrup-drenched pancakes, "I never measure the ingredients."

A fat calico hops onto Johnny's lap in the middle of Ten's story on the scar above his eye. ("I fought off three guys for my sister in Thailand a couple of summers ago, safe to say I got my ass kicked.") He scratches between its ears and offers it a piece of apple. The cat takes it and licks Johnny's fingers thankfully before stretching and moving to a sunspot on the counter. 

"How many cats do you have?" Johnny asks him when they're doing the dishes. Ten dries off because he doesn't want to get his skin pruny. Johnny laughs and flicks water at his face. "They're not mine," he says, looking up from the blue cup in his hands that is definitely already dry, "They're my friend Yuta's." Johnny perks up and almost lets a plate slip from his fingers. He turns to Ten with a smile. "This Yuta," he begins, "Does he happen to be a sociologist?" 

The beginning of spring still brings cold mornings. Goosebumps run along Ten's arm where Johnny bumps them together. "Yeah," he confirms, "He loves that shit. Named his cats Max, Karl and Emile, that loser." Johnny laughs, of course Yuta would. Taeil had told him about his and Lucas' project on cults one time during a thunderstorm, needless to say that did not end well.

Johnny wonders where Ten knows Yuta from. If it's the illegal broker side of him, or another, one that Johnny doesn't get to see. If it's the former, maybe that would explain why Ten always seems to be one step ahead of him, as if he knows something about Johnny that he's not supposed to. Why his face falls when the screen lights up green instead of invalid red.

"I'm going home now," Johnny states, when the sun dips behind the hills and Ten's kitchen shines bright orange. Ten nods and begins to clean up their unfinished game of monopoly. They left it when Johnny put a hotel up on Boardwalk, cheering in victory every time Ten landed his little silver cat on the dark blue. "This isn't fair," he said, "You stole money from the bank." Johnny laughed it off and counted his stack of five hundred dollar bills. 

He pets Max, Karl and Emile goodbye in the doorway, wearing one of Ten's oversized hoodies that feels a little too tight around his armpits. The hallway smells like grass and evening. Ten leans against the doorframe and hands Johnny his umbrella. 

"This was fun," he says, small smile gracing his lips. Johnny feels his head spinning and blames it on the hangover. "See you tomorrow," Ten lightly trails his fingers down Johnny's forearm, lingering too long at his fingers before stepping back and almost fully closing the door, "Johnny." 

The door shuts with a soft click that echoes throughout the empty hallway. Johnny feels his heart thundering in his chest. He's afraid that if it doesn't calm down, it'll end up breaking all his ribs.

-

Taeil comes over once a week. He brings life and left-over croissants and smells like books and coffee. Johnny thinks that he only makes the half an hour commute to the seaside for Yoonoh these days, notices it in Yoonoh's eyes and the crinkle of his smile. The sycamores in the garden obscure the sight of the ocean again. Yoonoh finds better ways to spend his days.

"I think Ten knows," Johnny mentions casually, in between sips of rosehip tea, turning his gaze from the rain rolling down the window to Taeil's caramel curls. Taeil nods and shrugs his shoulders, "I guess he got it out of Yuta somehow." Johnny refuses to acknowledge how his heart speeds up at the possibility of Ten talking about him.

Yoonoh joins them for dinner in the spacious dining room in the evening. The clouds have cleared up and allow the sun to filter through the translucent curtains, waving lightly in the breeze. "I got you another book," Taeil smiles at Yoonoh, almost bright but not disruptive. Johnny gets up to put his plate in the sink, marble cool under his cold feet, and hears Yoonoh laughing from the other room.

Yoonoh crawls into his bed later that night, staring up at the white ceiling like there's more to find than a blown lightbulb Johnny can't be bothered to replace. "How's it going?" He asks, weary voice barely audible over the ocean wind howling through the cracks in the windowpanes. "I think I'm getting a concert soon," Johnny answers, hope leaking out of his words onto the navy sheets.

Yoonoh turns to him with a smile and something that Johnny can only define as pride. It fits him better than the melancholic slouch in his posture. "You know," Johnny begins, "I met someone and I think you would really like him too." Yoonoh grins at that, as if Johnny gives away more than he would like to. "Bring him here then," he says, closing his eyes, "But don't leave me yet." Johnny laughs, "I won't." 

-

Johnny can't sleep when it's spring tide. The waves are too loud and the air is too salty. His heart beats like he's just ran a marathon. He stares up at the ceiling, covered in splotches of tired blues and purples, and taps on the sheets with his fingers as if they're piano keys. The motion seems like an instinct, a subconscious urge. 

Sometimes Yoonoh's house is too quiet. There live no ghosts of other people, no creaking, no stomping, no yelling. Just the continuous buzzing of silence, steady and all-encompassing. Johnny almost misses the heaviness of his neighbour's voice drifting through the walls in the early hours of the morning, Donghyuck's music when his window was opened in summer, the smell of curry from the market down the block and the pale yellow sunlight that seemed friendly and rewarding rather than glaring. 

He rolls onto his side and stares out the window. The night is a deep blue, like the feeling that remains when the applause dies out. Johnny thinks that it's beautiful and sad at the same time, how euphoria fizzles out into nothingness.

The red numbers on the alarm clock shift to two fifty-five. Johnny picks up his phone and calls Ten, who should be sleeping but is probably watching one of those drag queen shows he likes so much. In between the high-pitched beeps of the line, Johnny tries to come up with an excuse better than 'I wanted to hear your voice'.

"John," comes the voice, bright and reprimanding. Johnny breathes out a laugh and sits up, pulling the duvet around his shoulders. "Hey," he whispers, because although the silence is deafening, it still feels wrong to break it. "Hey," Ten answers. Johnny can imagine him on the couch with Yuta's cats, tv too loud and flowers wilting on the windowsill.

"I got a concert," Johnny informs Ten. "They told me this afternoon, you know, when I left the dance room. I think Yoonoh cried when I told him, his eyes were very red, but he told me he's allergic to pollen." 

Ten laughs from the other side of the line, accompanied by the white noise the bad connection leaves. "I'm very proud of you,' he says. Johnny breathes in. "You gave up on a lot of things, and you did it." Johnny still doesn't know how Ten knows, but his shaky breathing remains unheard. 

"I'm going to try and sleep now," Johnny says, "Don't stay up too late watching that drag queen show." Ten huffs on the other side of the city and Johnny feels his eyes burn. He closes them and imagines Ten right next to him. "I'll do it just so you can stop nagging, okay?" Johnny hums in agreement, "Goodnight." All is quiet for a while, static buzzing in his ear like electricity, "Sleep well, Johnny." 

-

The house looks just like Johnny remembers it. White shutters, ceramic orange tiles, and snake plants in front of the windows. He left it when the sun set, everything was made of gold. In the aftermath of a downpour, it looks disappointingly plain.

Johnny sits in the car and wonders if his family still misses him. Ten gazes at him from the passenger seat, fingers laced with Johnny's in a way that only makes his heart beat faster. "Come on, I talked to Hyuck, he's dying to see you," Ten reassures him with a world-changing smile, "He misses you so much."

Ten is in a musical with Donghyuck, one about a boy running away from home. Johnny thinks it's painfully familiar, the way Donghyuck's character cries into Ten's chest when he goes. 

"I'll kiss you if you don't get your ass out of this car right now," Ten says, tone so playful that Johnny can't tell whether he's serious or not. Johnny turns to him and grins, "What makes you think I wouldn't want that?" He regrets it when Ten kicks him out and locks the door behind him. The rain soaks through his red shirt in seconds.

He walks up the front porch and waits. When Donghyuck opens the door, it finally feels like coming home. He hugs Donghyuck's golden hair into his chest and promises himself not to cry. Donghyuck looks more fragile when he's not on stage. Not dressed up in costumes and illuminated in gold, he looks like his baby brother, like how he used to run around on the beach and climb up Johnny's lap, and resembles the sun in a totally different way.

When he leaves, he takes one of the pictures from the living room, Donghyuck holding up a peace sign, his parents smiling at the camera, and a headless Johnny. Ten is asleep in the car and only wakes up when they arrive at his apartment. "How was it?" He asks, voice cracking, and buries himself further into Johnny's sweater. "Good," Johnny answers, "It was really good."

Yuta's cats drape themselves over Johnny's chest when he lies down on Ten's bed. He feels like he's on fire. He isn't scared of his heart because he's pretty sure there are no ribs left to break. "They didn't even take down the pictures, Ten," he whispers to obscurity, "I don't think I've ever been this happy."

Ten curls his arms around Johnny's waist and rests his head in between Max and Emile on Johnny's chest. Johnny feels his voice when he talks. "Maybe your father was wrong for not loving you because of your genes," Ten mumbles, "Because for what it's worth, I think you're pretty decent actually." 

-

The sand burns red hot underneath Johnny's bare feet. He curls his toes every time they make contact with the ground, Ten laughing at him from where he safely has his own feet propped up on a yellow beach towel. His skin is treading the line between red and gold, smile radiant in the glittering summer sun. 

Johnny throws the sun cream down onto the towel and starts massaging his feet. "Stop laughing," he says, "The only reason I had to get onto the sand is so you wouldn't end up looking like a fucking lobster." Ten shrugs nonchalantly, "I think I'd look pretty hot as a lobster though." 

"let's go swimming," he proposes. The sea invites them with open arms, cobalt and azure. Ten drags Johnny into the waves by his hand, toppling over when a particularly large wave drags him under. Johnny laughs merrily. The waves break onto the shore as if laughing along. Ten flings his arms around Johnny's neck and pulls him down into the cold water.

"You know," Johnny begins, curling his toes into the mud, his fingers around Ten's hips, "You never told me how you found out about me." Ten stands up too, white foam frothing around his legs, black hair sticking to his forehead. "Your heart beats so fast," he says, "I sometimes thought you were going to die when I hugged you." 

Water drips down Ten's neck, like silver in the sun. He grins up at Johnny and steps closer, leans his forehead against Johnny's chest. "There it is," he notes, and presses a soft kiss to the tan skin. Johnny wonders if it's just his genes or something more. "I think it does that just for you," he whispers. Ten laughs like he's known all along.

Ten tastes like salt and sunshine on his tongue. It burns and it heals. Johnny thinks he should've seen it coming.

-

On the front stage of a brightly illuminated auditorium, Johnny learns that he exists for love. He looks out over a glittering crowd of gold and praise, applause filling the spaces between his ribs, to prevent his heart from shattering them. 

Ten stands next to him and holds his hand, and maybe, Johnny thinks, that's more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> yall this took me so long wth, ive been stuck in a writers block and this is not really how i wanted it to turn out but i like it well enough. its been a long time since ive written because i had exams and all that shaz but were good now!  
> anyways i miss johnten, thats it, thank you for reading ily <3


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